I'll Always Remember
by MaskedDreamer
Summary: Continuation of The Youthful Innocence. Christine makes Erik Angéle's Godfather, but Erik doesn't learn the full feeling of one until Christine and Raoul die in a carriage accident. R
1. Shock

**A few people wanted me to write a sequel to "The Youthful Innocence", a One Shot I made up off the top of my head, so I brainstormed and came up with an idea for a story. I'm not sure how long it will or what most of the meat of the story will be like, but I know the basic and the ending. **

**Also, unlike me with my other story "The Nightingale's Journey", I don't have it already written. I have two and a half chapters, but I still most likely won't post up every day. The waits will most likely differ, but I'll try to write and post new chapters up A.S.A.P.**

**I suggest that you read "The Youthful Innocence" first which you can get to by clicking on my name. It's a quick read and will help give you understanding for this story.**

**Enjoy!**

**-MaskedDreamer**

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Chapter One: Shock

"Christine! Christine wake up!"

Angéle watched as her father fussed over her mother who seemed to be sleeping in the middle of the street. _And she tells me not to ruin my dress,_ Angéle thought sarcastically.

"Papa? What happened to mother?"

Raoul beckoned Angéle over to him and hugged her tightly.

"Your mother was just shocked. She'll be fine, don't worry little one."

Angéle screwed up her face trying to remember something Erik had told her.

"Erik said that he wasn't on the best terms with you and mother. He said that if you saw him, you'd be hurt." Raoul glanced at the newly worried Angéle. "Did I hurt mama?"

"No, Angéle. You didn't. But. . . Erik, is that his name? Well, what he said about us not being on the best of terms is true."

"Why not?" Angéle asked.

"Not now, little one. Perhaps when you're older."

Raoul's attention was soon brought back to Christine who was slowly waking up. Her eyes fluttered open and immediately swerved around as if looking for a ghost.

"Oh God, Angéle. Are you all right?" she asked, sitting up and pulling Angéle into an embrace.

"Of course I'm all right, mother," Angéle said, her replied muffed in Christine's hair.

"Did he hurt you in any way? What did he do to you?"

Angéle looked confusedly at Christine's worried face.

"Mama, he didn't hurt me at all."

Christine and Raoul visibly relaxed at that. "Tell us everything," Christine said, standing up and bringing Angéle up in her arms.

"Well, when the carriage broke, I saw a flutter of white at the top of the street. I went up to see what it was and found this." Angéle waved around the handkerchief. Christine caught a whiff of its aroma and immediately recognized the mysterious scent of her Angel of Music.

"I picked it up and saw a man walking away from it. I thought he must of dropped his handkerchief, so I picked it up and told him he dropped it."

"You should never talk to strangers, Angéle," Raoul said sternly. Angéle shrugged.

"He didn't feel dangerous to me so I thought it would be okay to stop him. He almost didn't turn around to see me, but he eventually did." Angéle smiled. "He's a funny man. Very large and dark, but his eyes looked so sad and worn."

Christine gulped down threatening tears at the remembrance of Erik's pitiful eyes.

"He took the handkerchief and looked at me as if terribly shocked. I then noticed he wore something over his face and asked him what it was. He told me he wore a mask so that he wouldn't scare anyone. He told me he was born with a deformity. I asked if it gets hot an icky under it and he seemed amused."

Angéle smiled fondly at the memory.

"I then asked for his name. He seemed surprised but replied. I told him mine and he seemed amused again." Angéle's soft smile then turned to a frown and she bit her lip.

"But then you called out for me and Erik went all rigid. He was about to leave, but I held him back. I asked where he lived. He said 'Around here'. I asked if I could visit and he said you two wouldn't like it if I visited because he's a stranger and would bring pain to you. Then Erik left, giving me this rose and leaving behind his handkerchief again."

As Angéle finished her story with a final sigh, Raoul looked warily over at Christine. Christine's eyes were fixed on the rose and it's ribbon, but seemed to be thinking far beyond that.

"Christine. . . ?" Raoul asked uncertainly. Christine broke out of her trance and smiled slightly at Raoul and Angéle.

"Well today has proved exciting. I think we should delay our trip till tomorrow, don't you?"

Raoul nodded, letting Christine lead the way back around the corner and to their broken down carriage.

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Erik had come back to his lair with lighter spirits than usual. He immediately discarded his cloak, jacket, and vest before sitting down at the organ. Without any sense of hesitation, his fingers started caressing a lively and youthful tune out of the organ.

In six years, Erik had never played a tune so lively and carefree as this one. They had all halted when Raoul came into Christine's life, shattering his dream of having Christine love him. Even before six years, Erik had rarely played such tunes.

It's playfulness flooded his body and poured out his admiration for Christine's daughter, Angéle. She was so young, so innocent, and inspired Erik in many different ways.

For the whole day Erik never left the organ. He spent ten hours pouring out his heart and soul into the pipes and letting his new found emotions reverberate throughout his cave. He was so engulfed with his music he didn't notice the person sneaking through the lair's tunnels until someone called out softly.

"Erik?"

Erik jumped in surprise, his fingers slipping and playing a loud, horribly sloppy chord on the organ. Trying not to cringe in disgust, Erik whirled around to face the other side of the lake.

There, standing on the banks, was Christine.

"Christine. . ." Erik said hoarsely, blinking back sudden tears.

"Can I talk to you?" Christine asked.

"About what?"

"I just want to talk," she said stubbornly, raising her chin. Erik was amazed at how much Christine had grown. Mechanically and still trying to digest the information that Christine had willingly come back to his hell, Erik poled the gondola over to the other shore. As soon as he stepped off, he turned around to face Christine.

At first, both just stared at each other, unsure of what to do. Erik was rigid with shock plastered all over his face, where as Christine just looked uncomfortable. After thinking about something, Christine let out a sob and threw herself into Erik's arm.

Erik almost fainted when he felt Christine touch him willing. With surprised eyes, Erik stared down at Christine's sobbing body. He hesitantly reached out his hand and touched her head.

It was real. Christine was actually in his arms willingly, sobbing.

Realization struck Erik and he too let out tears, burying his head into Christine's hair and breathing in her enticing perfume. They stayed in each others embrace for a long time, savoring the feel of one another, before Christine slowly pried herself from him.

"Erik, we need to talk."

He stared calmly at Christine as she looked less placidly back.

"Is this about Angéle?" he asked. Christine's eyes widened briefly when he heard him speak her daughters name, but she soon recovered and nodded.

"I've no right to be mad at you because I've never seen Angéle so pleased." Erik lifted his visible eyebrow. "And I'm glad you two met because before this I thought you were. . . dead."

Erik didn't seem surprised at this bit of information.

"Why are you here, then?" Erik asked Christine. "There must be another reason for you to visit me besides saying you thought I was dead."

"Yes, there was," Christine said, squaring her shoulders and looking directly into Erik's eyes.

"I've come back to apologies. I know that will never be enough to heal our past, but it's better than nothing. I want you to accept this apology."

Erik gazed tiredly at Christine.

"Christine, I forgave you five years ago."

This caused Christine to tear up again, but she rapidly blinked them back.

"Is that it?" Erik then asked.

"No," Christine replied. She looked once more directly into Erik's eyes.

"I was also here to give you the secret job of being Angéle's Godfather."

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**Love it? Hate it? Review please! Flames are useless, but critical criticism is acceptable.**


	2. Godfather

**Sorry about the short wait.**

**Oh! And I just went down on Saturday to see Spamalot in New York. It was hilarious! starts singing _Once in every show, there comes a song like this!_ If anyone's seen Spamalot: Did you see the Phantom of the Opera reference with the boat and chandelier? I squealed out and started spazzing when I saw it! I also got a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt: soooooooo cool! **

**Anyway, enough about me, and onto the story!**

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Chapter Two: Godfather

Erik blinked.

"Godfather?" he repeated, stunned.

"Yes Erik. It's obvious that there's some sort of strange connection between you and Angéle, and I don't want it to go to waste."

Erik tried to process this information.

"And. . . And would Raoul approve this decision?"

Christine bit her lip and wrung her hands in her skirts.

"I don't think he would be." Erik looked at Christine sharply. "In fact, he doesn't even think I'm with you right now. He thinks I'm at Madame Giry's."

Erik was about to talk, but Christine beat him to it.

"But that's why I said you'd be a _secret_ Godfather. Raoul wouldn't have to know. It would just be between me and you."

"But. . . But if you and Raoul. . . died," Erik forced out, shuddering, "how would anyone believe me if I came to take Angéle?"

"I've written it down in anticipation of such an encounter."

Christine withdrew a note from her glove and handed it to Erik. He took it with shaking hands and opened it.

_I, Christine Daae, give permission to Monsieur Erik to be the Godfather of my daughter, Angéle Danielle de Changy. He has my permission of taking her into his own care if something should go wrong with my husband, Raoul, and I. _

_Christine de Changy_

Erik read it over twice before looking up at Christine. He gulped, before tucking it away in his pocket.

"I accept, then."

Christine beamed at Erik who was finally digesting the information. He was Angéle's Godfather! A faint smile played around his grim lips as he thought of the fact.

"Thank you so much, Erik!" Christine exclaimed, hugging Erik again. "You must understand that this means so much to me. I love you. Not the way I love Raoul, but I love you all the same."

Erik could only nod stiffly.

"I will not tell Angéle. Perhaps when she's older, but not now."

"Will you tell Raoul?" Erik asked curiously. Christine shrugged uncertainly.

"Perhaps never. I'm not sure; I'll let the years play out."

She then smiled gently at Erik again.

"You should be going," Erik noted painfully. Christine nodded blankly.

"You're right. They'll be wondering what's taking me so long. Farewell, Erik."

With one last short and uncertain, yet warm, hug, Christine hurried off up the passageway.

Erik watched her leave, dazed, before touching the paper in his pocket.

Then a smile grew on his face.

_He was Angéle's Godfather._

Swiftly her rowed back across the lake and let cheerful and peaceful organ music accompany Christine all the way out of the Opera Populaire's shambles.

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Christine wrapped her lavender cloak around herself as she hurried along the streets, head bowed.

In a way, she was dreadfully frightened at the choice she had just made. Why in heavens name had she announced Erik as Angéle's Godfather?

But on the other hand, she was perfectly tranquil with her decision. It was obvious how much joy Erik had caused Angéle. She still couldn't stop talking about his eyes, his unusual demeanor, and his big black cape. Strangely enough, Angéle barely mentioned the mask which pointed more towards the direction of Christine making a great choice.

Raoul, on the other hand, would despise such a decision. He'd call it risky, stupid, and disturbing having a man who almost strangled him be Angéle's Godfather.

Raoul had never seen Erik's Angel side, though. Christine had, and when she did she had never seen anything more gentle and kind.

This was the side Erik used these days. Perhaps she had killed off his monstrosity with her kiss that night. . .

Christine unconsciously walked up her house's steps, not even noticing the maid who hurriedly opened the door for her. She only realized where she was when someone gently kissed her brow and started peeling the cloak from her.

"How was your meeting with Madame Giry?" Raoul asked. Christine shook away all thoughts she had about Erik and smiled at Raoul, kissing him.

"Wonderful. Perfectly wonderful."

She would never regret the decision.

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**Please review! They motivate me to write and also allow me to see what I should work on as a writer. **


	3. An Unwelcome Surprise

**Sorry for the long wait! I got into a pretty bad writer's block, was really busy, and also was/am writing another story. Chocolate chip cookies to those who reviewed!**

**Sorry for the slight cliffie, also.**

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Chapter Three: And Unwelcome Surprise

Angéle was playing with a new doll she got from her friend for her birthday. It had a porcelain face and black hair with sparkling green jeweled eyes. The green eyes and black hair combination intrigued Angéle, though, and reminded her so much of Erik.

She missed Erik dearly and wished she could go visit him. It had been almost a year since their encounter, but Angéle thought of him every day. In fact, she had been talking so much about Erik, she finally claimed one morning that he was part of the family and would hence be called "Uncle Erik". Her father had considerably blanched while a slight smile played around her mother's lips.

Today, she decided to complete the doll because she felt something was missing. And she knew what.

After a few minutes Angéle had taken some of her fathers papers and scissors, cutting the snow white square into the shape of a half mask. It was surprisingly acute for such a small child's creation and fit perfectly over the doll's right side of the face. Angéle smiled down at her creation, innocent pride welling up in her breast.

Footsteps were heard coming down the hallway. They were rather fast paced, light, and unusual to Angéle's ears. Definitely not her mother's, her father's, or any of the servants. Wondering who it was, Angéle stuffed away the mask in her dress and sat down on the chair with her doll.

In through the door came a women, about twenty years older than her mother. She was slenderly built, had long amber hair with a few wisps of silver, and large piercing brown eyes. Her dress was a stiff black dress; slim and strict. The way she held herself also intimidated Angéle for it was as straight as one could get. She felt herself cower when the woman's eyes swiveled onto Angéle's.

"Angéle? I'm Madame Giry, a friend of your mothers."

How could her mother have a friend so strict? Dismissing the fact, Angéle went into her newly smooth curtsey unlike the one she had a year ago.

"I am Angéle."

"Angéle, this news I'm about to tell you will cause you pain."

Immediately Angéle bit her lip.

"This morning, when your parents were traveling by carriage to visit me, they got into an accident." Angéle gasped.

"Are they okay?"

Madame Giry blinked back tears, trying her hardest not to allow her shoulders to slump down. She knew this news was going to hurt Angéle's innocence dearly and hated to see her once joyful face fall when she spoke up again.

"No, Angéle. They're not okay. They died. . . instantly."

Angéle paled to an unnatural white color.

Death.

It was a term Angéle thought unreal; a term only used for people that she didn't know.

So then how could her parents die? They were immortal. . . right?

But deep inside Angéle knew better.

Of course they weren't. They were like everyone else. But hearing that they died was still unbearable to process through her juvenile brain.

"They. . . They died?" Angéle managed to mumble. Madame Giry nodded numbly, a tear escaping the corner of her eye and falling down into her lap. Hastily she wiped at her eyes, but Angéle had seen.

Seeing such a strict and stiff lady cry was enough proof for Angéle. Her parents - the people she loved, the people she grew up with, the people who treated her like no other - were dead.

Too many feelings surged through Angéle's brain, making her dizzy. Tears poured out of her ears as she clutched the her black haired doll. Getting up, she walked over to her mother's favorite chair; the one right by the window over looking the rose gardens in the back.

She could have been sitting there; her mother could have been sitting in that chair, reading Angéle stories about princes slaying dragons to save the princess. She could have been sipping a glass of tea while chatting gaily to Raoul over the weather. She could have been sitting in that chair with Angéle on her lap so she could comb her hair while humming a gentle tune.

But she was dead. Her mother would never be able to comfort her again.

Finally after what seemed hours, Madame Giry spoke up, her voice freshly choked on sorrowful tears.

"I'm to take you into care by request of your father. My daughter, Meg, and I can raise you in our apartment. I'm sorry, but it won't be as luxurious as here. It will definitely be a change for you."

Angéle looked up dully into Madame Giry's eyes. For some reason the prospect of living with Madame Giry seemed incredibly uninviting; her father's typical choice.

"Who did my mother want me to go with?'

Madame Giry shrugged her shoulders shortly.

"She didn't say. There's no written explanation as far as I'm concerned, either."

"I don't want to live with you," Angéle said shortly, crossing her arms before wiping off some more tears.

"I'm sorry, Angéle, but you have no choice."

Angéle bit her lip, leaning into her mother's chair and savoring the lingering perfume of her mother. It was refreshing to remember her smell.

Then with a jolt, Angéle realized she didn't remember exactly what her mother looked like. How were her cheekbones formed exactly? What did her curls look like while in the moonlight? What feeling did her smile cause in her stomach?

Fear of forgetting spread over Angéle, intertwining her soul with so much panic she fainted, doll falling to the ground, a slight crack forming over it's right side of the face.

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Angéle woke up with a pounding head ache for her little head. She groaned and curled up in a tight ball on her bed, the cotton sheets slipping off her small form.

Then her eyes shot open.

She didn't have any cotton blankets, and she was still in her dress.

Gasping, Angéle sat up quickly, looking around at where she was.

She was lying on a small bed dressed in plain cream cotton sheets. The room was small and wooden with a chest to one side and a desk to the other, only one small window allowing a faint trickle of morning light in. The door was to Angéle's right, and her attention was drawn to it when it opened.

Angéle was expecting her mother or father to come through with smiles and a tray of cookies. But when Angéle saw Madame Giry enter with a bunch of folded cloth, the full force of remembrance struck Angéle.

"Good morning, Angéle," Madame Giry said before putting away the cloth.

"Where am I?" Angéle asked quietly, huddling up on the bed, trying to hold back the tears.

"You're in my daughter's room. She's agreed to take over the couch. This shall therefore be your own room."

"I want to go home."

Madame Giry sighed and looked at Angéle.

"Your house was put up for sale last night. It's no longer your home any more."

"I don't want to stay here."

"It's my duty to keep you as another child."

"But I don't want you as a mother!" Angéle yelled. This was all too much for her. "I want my mother and father back! I want to go to sleep in my own room. I want my mother to talk and sing to me. I want. . . I want. . ."

Angéle slumped down in her chair, emotionally drained for such a small once lively girl. Madame Giry observed from the other side of the room.

"I want my doll. . ." Angéle finished lamely. She needed to see something that resembled a familiar face.

Madame Giry left the room. At first Angéle thought it was because she was fed up with Angéle, but was proven wrong. Instead Madame Giry came back holding her doll with black hair, sparkling green eyes, and the cracked face. She handed it over to Angéle who cradled it to her chest with one hand, her other in her dress pocket, lightly touching the homemade white mask for reassurance.

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The song just didn't sound right. Those two - three - no, four bars just didn't fit with the rest of the melody. Frustrated at his failing attempt for perfection, Erik crumpled up the paper and stomped away, seething.

To clear his thoughts, Erik put on his cloak and hoped in the gondola, realizing that going for a walk might help him cheer up like it did the last time.

Angéle.

Her angelic form still pierced his soul with innocent beauty. Just the thought of her soothed and calmed Erik when he was in a ballistic mood.

He knew it would be impossible to ever see her again. Even if Christine trusted him, Raoul would eventually find out and shatter Erik's dream of being a Godfather.

Climbing out of the Opera Populaire's ruins, Erik looked around, pulling his cloak collar up higher. Then, with hastened footsteps, Erik walked along the abbey streets.

Just as he was passing a street her saw a familiar sight ahead of him. It was the street Christine and Raoul carriage had broken down in. On the other side would have been where Erik met Angéle. Looking down the street from the shadows, Erik made a decision and swiftly walked down the cobble stoned street.

At the end he looked over and observed the place where Erik and Angéle had conversed. He stood where Angéle had stood and immediately felt warmth sweep over his body as he imagined her smile.

The euphoric feeling was swiped from his soul, though, when something hit his legs.

Looking down, Erik saw a version of that days newspaper, fluttering away from him down the street in the strong wind.

Erik leapt after it, grabbing the paper and bringing himself into the shadows to read. It wouldn't hurt to know what was going on in the world.

There was something about a small fire in a factory, a new cafe in all it's glory, and some political and international junk. Immediately bored by it's contents, Erik closed it, ready to throw it into the wind so it could continue its pinwheel spin down the street.

He was stopped when a picture caught his eyes on the last page. Quickly opening it back up, Erik studied it more closely.

Sure enough, it was a picture of Christine and Raoul, both dressed finely in their wedding clothes. Erik had never seen Christine so happy or Raoul so handsome. It hurt to know that they were only like this away from Erik's monstrosity. He studied Christine's every facial expression leaving Raoul unsurprisingly alone. Smiling slightly, Erik looked down to read the article.

This proved very disturbing.

_'The Vicomte de Changy and His Wife Immediately Die After Carriage Accident Five Days Ago.'_

The paper escaped from Erik's hands, continuing it's spins in the wind, it's chaotic unstableness representing Erik's new found emotions.

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**Dun dun dunn! **

**Please review!**


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